“That ship—I’m its sponsor.”
Johan slowly lowered his gaze and looked at the unfamiliar woman.
The admiral’s daughter.
He couldn’t remember her name or face, but he did recall that the sponsor of the King Trafalgar was the admiral’s daughter. With that, he gave her a short nod.
Seeing that he seemed to remember, the woman smiled brightly.
“Is it because we’ve met again in such an unexpected place? I’m so happy.”
Her youthful cheeks flushed a peachy pink.
The red lights of the train corridor made her appear even more flushed. She was a young lady who didn’t know how to hide her expression.
Or perhaps she simply lived a life where there was no need to. Either way, Johan wasn’t interested.
“Excuse me, then. I’ll be going.”
With a light touch to the brim of his silk hat, Johan offered a brief farewell. Thankfully, the woman wasn’t too dense.
Though her face drooped in disappointment, she willingly stepped aside.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace.”
With perfect manners, she passed by Johan. Her light footsteps pattered against the carpet, then stopped again. She turned back.
“Your Grace?”
Johan, on his way to his private suite, also stopped. He furrowed his brows slightly and tilted his head to meet her gaze.
“Do you like paintings?”
“……”
It was a sudden, random question, and she smiled as she asked it. A transparent smile—without any ulterior motive.
Between her thick lashes, a pair of vivid blue eyes sparkled. The same color as Olivia Blanchet’s eyes when Johan had first met her.
The only difference was that the light in this woman’s gaze resembled the warmth of spring sunshine, whereas his wife’s had always held the chill and loneliness of a harsh winter.
Johan couldn’t take his eyes off those eyes for a while.
That was when he began to notice small, previously invisible details—one by one.
The weather wasn’t on Johan’s side.
He’d been anxious about it even from the train, watching the gloomy grey sky grow darker the closer they got to LeMont.
Sure enough, upon arriving at LeMont Station, the weather was clearly abnormal.
Johan’s sharp gaze turned cold as it drifted upward. He’d spent the whole ride catching up on work, and his bloodshot eyes looked narrow and tired.
Once they arrived at LeMont Harbor, things were even worse. A violent storm was approaching, and powerful winds had already started to blow.
Waves crashed high, rocking the ships moored with thick ropes.
“Departure is impossible, sir.”
A heavy silence settled over the VIP lounge in the passenger terminal.
Thick raindrops began to beat against the glass. The wind, meeting the rain, grew even fiercer.
The storm howled as though it would tear the world apart.
“Damn it.”
Johan muttered lowly.
He turned away from the window and sat down, lighting a cigar.
The captain of the Leopold flinched and glanced nervously at Morris.
He swears a lot these days. Don’t mind it.
Morris sent the captain a reassuring look. The captain nodded but still cast a wary glance at Johan.
Though the storm wasn’t his fault, the duke’s gaze somehow made him feel like an incompetent fool.
Johan rolled up his sleeve and checked the time. 4:00 a.m. He still had plenty of time.
The match wasn’t until 10 a.m. the day after tomorrow.
“You may go.”
Nodding slightly at the bowing captain, Johan took a long drag of his cigar.
Today, Litton felt unusually far away.
Lightning flashed through the pale smoke. The gold trim on his wristwatch gleamed in the silver burst.
“Think of me.”
His wife’s words were more like a curse than a wish. Now, Johan could think of nothing but Olivia.
“Aren’t we going to White Gable?”
Morris broke the silence.
This storm wasn’t going to pass easily. They needed to get moving before the roads turned monstrous enough to swallow even their carriage.
After over a week of being dragged around with Johan, Morris was desperate to reach the villa, soak in lukewarm water, and rest.
But Johan, still staring at his wife’s birthday gift, exhaled another long stream of smoke.
The grey smoke dissolved into nothingness, and the endless rain lashed the windows. The world outside was lost in shadow.
Though there was still time, an inexplicable sense of urgency gnawed at him.
Johan slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again.
The cause of his anxiety was clear.
Edgar.
At the end of every thought—stood him.
Johan drained his brandy. The mix of exhaustion and alcohol made his head feel hot.
Through the throbbing pain, Olivia forced her way into his thoughts.
Eyes sharpened with wariness toward strangers, a voice that rang clear without a tremble, an indifferent face—as if her heart lay elsewhere.
Since their reunion, this woman had been stirring up his consciousness nonstop.
His slow gaze drifted from the stormy darkness outside the window back to his own wrist.
“We have similar taste.”
Edgar’s words resurfaced in his mind. Johan straightened his posture.
Leaning back against the sofa and resting his head, he closed his eyes.
Taste.
Taste had no place in this marriage.
It was a transaction—and not a bad one, at that. Olivia Blanchet, whom he first saw as part of that deal, was a stunning beauty.
Now they were divorced—completely unrelated strangers.
Olivia.
Johan repeated her name quietly.
The divorce had concluded easily. But his heart hadn’t been so easily resolved. Because, from the beginning, this divorce had never been complete.
“Please divorce me.”
Her blue eyes stood out against her pale face.
Her lips, still lacking color, calmly uttered the words. Johan had assumed it was just another of her threats.
A bluff, like always.
Whenever she said she hated him, it was really a cry for love.
When she told him to get out of her sight, it meant she wanted him to stay.
“Divorce me” probably meant “Don’t abandon me.”
So he hadn’t taken it seriously—until he got angry.
After the message about her jumping into the lake, Johan’s rage had simmered like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
That’s why he hadn’t forgiven her so easily.
That’s why he agreed to the divorce. Because he thought he saw right through her.
But that… was Johan’s arrogant misjudgment.
He expected her to cling to him, to beg. But instead, she… left.
The shrieking wind rattled his fraying nerves.
He recalled the photo of Olivia watching a tennis match, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Edgar.
Raising his stiff hand, Johan wiped his face and opened his eyes.
Then, without hesitation, he stood up and commanded Morris:
“Prepare the ship for departure.”
“…P-Pardon?!”
Morris shook his head rapidly. He must have misheard. Surely Johan hadn’t just said that in this weather.
After running inside to escape the downpour, Olivia parted ways with Elaine in the hallway and returned to her suite.
Soaked like a drowned rat, both Olivia and Anne were greeted by Madame Marie, who handed them dry towels.
“I’ve told you time and time again to always carry a parasol. Anne, what were you doing?”
Madame Marie gave Anne a stern look as she dried Olivia’s wet clothes with the towel meant for herself.
“I’m sorry…”
“You could catch a cold. Tomorrow’s the final match.”
Her scolding tone was fitting for Lancelot Hotel’s most senior maid.
“It’s alright. Anne’s not to blame. I told her it was too much trouble.”
Olivia smiled at Madame Marie as she spoke.
“There’s a saying: never trust a Litton man’s heart—or its weather.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Olivia wiped the rain from Anne’s face and replied like an obedient student.
Watching them take care of each other, it was hard to tell who was the mistress and who the maid.
Madame Marie valued the proper decorum of noblewomen.
A lady should always act like a lady—that was her creed.
Part of that included the ability to manage those beneath her. But when it came to Olivia Blanchet, Madame Marie wasn’t sure how to judge her by that standard.
To her, Olivia and Anne seemed more like sisters than mistress and maid.
“A letter has arrived for you.”
Freshly changed into loungewear, Olivia sat down just as Madame Marie placed a perfectly cooled cup of coffee before her and made the announcement.
Olivia pulled her knees up onto the soft chair and savored the aroma of the drink.
How many times must I tell her not to sit like that? Still, at least she maintained perfect lady-like posture in public.
“I thought the letters had finally stopped. Where’s this one from?”
She tilted her head in curiosity.
Before the “Ghost of the Leopold Hotel” scandal, Olivia’s suite had been flooded with interview requests and event invitations.
“No sender is listed.”
Lifting her teacup, Olivia blinked in surprise and looked up at Madame Marie.
She held out a silver tray. The pure white envelope bore no markings.
It hadn’t come through the official postal service.
Olivia put down her cup and picked up the envelope, inspecting it carefully front and back.
At that moment, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled loudly. Startled, Olivia’s shoulders jerked.
She had thought it was just a brief summer shower—but now, the rain was falling in thick sheets.
“Let me open it, miss,” Anne said.
Olivia smiled.
“What, you think it’s poisoned?”
All three women thought of the same person—Anblin Grace Britt.
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Anne is right. Please, let me see it.”
“It might be from Edgar, you know. Let’s all calm down.”
Reassuring the others, Olivia took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and carefully sliced open the envelope with a letter opener.
With Anne and Madame Marie holding their breath, Olivia pulled out the letter.
